I'll Come Back for You, page 5
“Your being here is agitating the ghost?” Helen asked, rolling up her sleeves as though she was ready to get to work. Whitney couldn’t believe how ecstatic her sister was. “What should we do? Put out crosses?”
Whitney rolled her eyes. “Girl, what crosses? This is a B&B and we’re not really church-going women.”
Helen shrugged. “Maybe Grand-Mère had some stuff in the attic. I’m just spit-balling here.”
“Maybe we all just need to take a break and regroup after Pam… sorts herself,” Deon suggested as he let his camera hang at his side.
Whitney almost forgot that he was even standing there, filming the whole “paranormal event.” Her shoulders loosened under his concerned gaze, but it did little to ease the general anxiety she felt about people roaming around her house. “Yeah,” she muttered. “Let’s take a break.”
Chapter Six
Whitney ignored Pam and Rosa who were filming something near the grand piano as she ran back to the kitchen for that glass of water. But she barely had time to collect her thoughts when Deon appeared. “Are you okay?” he asked, slipping his coat on.
“I’m fine,” she said immediately.
“But you’re not,” he replied. “Get your coat on and come take a walk with me.” Whitney stood there gawking at him until he stepped into the kitchen. “Where’s your coat?”
She grabbed her parka from the back door and shrugged into it while he waited. “You really want to go walk around in the snow.”
“For a short time,” he said, taking her hand. “Just so you can shake Pam off. She’s a lot to handle in one sitting.”
As he led her to the front door, she twisted around to see Helen leading Bill Duke upstairs. “I should probably be helping out somewhere—”
“Come on, Whit,” Deon said, squeezing her hand. “You can take a day off.”
She clamped her mouth shut and allowed herself to be steered out the door, down the porch, and into the snow. “Where are we going?” she eventually asked.
“To the tour bus,” he huffed as he dragged his Timbs through the snow. She knew he was a New Yorker now, but he had truly made an error in choosing footwear for upstate terrain. “You didn’t think I was gonna make you calm down in the cold, did you?”
She grinned. “You’re still not used to the weather after living in the city?”
Deon shook his head. “Fuck no,” he said with a laugh. It was so good to hear that chuckle deep from his belly. It reminded her of that night at the Plaza. They were doubled over drunk, tears streaming down their faces, as they recalled funny high school memories.
She waited for him to open the bus door before following him up the stairs. “I’ve only been on one of these things once,” she said, surveying a surprisingly large and clean interior.
“Oh yeah?”
“The Chili Peppers stayed at The Palms while they were in Miami. I was personally requested to oversee the luggage,” she said, wandering down the aisle. As she passed the small sitting area, and the kitchenette, she paused next to Deon, who leaned against a bunk bed staring at her. “What?”
“What business did you have getting on that bus, ma’am?” he teased.
Whitney rolled her eyes. “They had a lot of luggage that needed coordinating. No funny business.”
“Even that squirrelly dude on the bass?”
“Flea was a perfect gentleman. The men are dads by now.”
“I’m just sweatin’ you a little,” he said as his grin widened. Deon had always had a perfect smile. Full, kissable lips and two rows of straight white teeth had blinded her when she was a kid. Now that she was close to forty and stressed out, his wry grin still had a potent kick. “Back here is the camera station I use for editing,” he said gesturing behind him.
She peeked over his shoulder and spied several computer monitors affixed to a card table. “Can I see?”
“Sure,” he said, leading her deeper into the bus. He quickly closed the door to what appeared to be a bedroom. “That’s Bill’s area.”
“He gets his own bedroom?” she asked as Deon turned on the monitors. “Where do you sleep?”
“We just passed it,” he chuckled. “I’m bunk number two to your right.”
She thought that with all the money the Travel Network had, they could afford to fly television crews to different destinations. “I have a feeling you’ll sleep better in the carriage house,” she murmured.
“Bet I will,” he said.
Whitney’s eyes roved over the back of the bus before returning to the computer monitors where she saw some familiar images. “That’s the house,” she whispered, as she peered at the boxes on each screen. “That’s the kitchen… oh my god, Deon, is that my bedroom?”
“Uh… right, so I set up cameras everywhere for paranormal research. Helen directed me around the house,” he held his hands up in defense. “All of that was in the contract.”
She nodded absently, vaguely remembering her sister guiding Deon throughout the mansion. “I guess I’ll get changed in my bathroom?” she asked in an uncertain voice.
“There are no cameras in your bathroom,” he assured her. “I put this one on your nightstand, but it’s pointed at the door. Whatever you do in bed won’t be filmed.”
Her gaze flew to his to find him holding back a grin. Whitney slapped him on the arm. “Boy, quit playin’ now.”
“I’m just saying you’ll have more privacy than you think. Just try not to move it.”
Whitney searched the monitors again. “There’s the Colonial Room,” she pointed to the boxed image. “Is Bill sure he wants to sleep there? I’ve had it closed off for the last month.”
“Girl, please. Bill will sleep anywhere he can find a ghost. He’ll be fine.” He stooped over the keyboard and typed something in. “While we’re here, I should probably look for Rosa’s camera.”
An unexpected shiver of excitement ran through her body as she watched him pull up Rosa’s footage. She didn’t know what to expect but standing next to Deon made her feel safe. “Like, we might see what happened to her?”
“If she was recording, we might.” He stood back once the image of Rosa filled his screen.
“That’s it,” she murmured around her thumbnail. “She’s in the library.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Rosa’s heart-shaped face filled the frame as she bit her lip and propped the camera on a shelf. She stood back, glanced behind her. She reached out to shift the camera, pointing it towards the doorway. But something must have startled her because she whipped around in a flash. Whitney watched the back of her head as Rosa stared at the wall behind her.
Deon inhaled sharply when the sound of glass crashed, causing Rosa to take a step backwards, bumping into the camera on the shelf. Darkness quickly settled over the lens as Rosa picked it up. “Did anyone else see that?” she called out in a frightened voice. The video cut out after that.
“Are you okay?” Whitney asked him.
Deon didn’t answer, instead he clicked the track and dragged it back to the start of the video. They watched again in silence until the moment where Rosa took that startled step backwards.
“What do you think?” she asked. “Did something happen?”
Deon ran his hand over his mouth. “I don’t—I’m not sure,” he muttered. He rewound the video again. As she watched him watch the video for a third time, Whitney noticed the confused furrow between his black brows—the only real wrinkles on his handsome face.
“She looks scared of something,” Whitney said.
“Right…” He decreased the size of the image and straightened away from the computer. “I’ll have to ask her about it later.”
“Listen, I should apologize for storming out of the interview,” she said, remembering why they needed to take a walk in the first place. “I wasn’t being professional.”
His hand fell on to her shoulder in a reassuring Deon way she’d gotten used to. When she worked next to him in her parent’s living room, pretending not to understand Coleridge, he patted her shoulder and told her to keep trying. Only this time, his hands slid down her arm and he pulled her closer. “You don’t have to worry about being any certain kind of way, Whit,” he said. “Helen told me what you went through in Miami… you’re allowed to feel and say what’s on your mind. And if Pam gets too personal, I’ll tell her to stop.”
Of course, Helen told him about Miami. The last thing she wanted was for Deon to feel sorry for her. “The hurricane was last year and I’m fine now.” Whitney quickly added. “And my grandmother’s not a ghost.”
“Then she’s not a ghost,” Deon said in a soothing voice. “We’re not trying to punt her out of here.”
The absurdity of his words caused her to make an undignified noise; a cross between a snort and laugh. “Why would you say that?” she asked, laughing in shock.
Deon’s smile creased the wrinkles at his eyes. “I’m just letting you know, no one’s gonna fuck with Miss Ernestine. You have my word.”
She didn’t know if it was his comforting hand radiating heat through her coat or if it was her inappropriate laughter, but Whitney finally felt relief unfurl within her body. Her heart wasn’t racing, her mouth didn’t feel so dry, and her breathing seemed to slow to a manageable pace. “Thank you.”
He slung his arm over her shoulders and pulled her closer to his front. His hug was so warm and comforting that Whitney slipped her arms around his waist, under his coat. She felt his powerful back muscles as he wrapped his arms around her. “You’re very welcome,” he whispered.
They stayed like that for two beautiful, quiet minutes. And for once, Whitney felt safe. When she felt like their embrace was over, she pulled back and looked up at him. “We should probably get back to the house before people realize we’re missing.”
Deon tightened his hold on her. “Wait a second.”
At this distance, Whitney could see the stubble on his angular cheeks and strong chin, some of it black, some of it silvery. She also had a closer look at his Adam’s apple as it bobbed in his throat. When her eyes landed on his mouth, he licked his full brown lips. “What?”
As heat enveloped her, Deon lifted one hand to rest against her cheek and stroked the space beside her mouth with his thumb. “I don’t want another minute to pass before I tell you this.”
Whitney fought to keep her eyes open against his slow caress. She tried not to let her head loll to the side so he could cup her cheek. “What?” she repeated in a dreamy voice.
“I just—” He paused as his dark brown eyes stared down at her. A mix of desire and guilt painted his features. “I didn’t want to leave you in New York. I wanted to spend the night kissing you. I wanted to touch you, hold you…”
Whitney stood completely still in his grasp, save the trembling in her knees, hoping that she’d heard him right. Deon Grant, her crush—since forever—regretted leaving her? “You had a show to do,” she said, her voice shook.
“I should have come back,” Deon said.
“Okay.”
His hand slid to the back of her head, cradling the back of her neck, drawing her even closer. “Can I kiss you now or do I have to wait another three years?”
“We do have a raincheck,” she whispered.
“We do.” His face was getting so close that her vision began to blur.
“Deon,” a female voice pierced the quiet. “Deon to base, over.”
They jumped at the sound. Whitney pulled away, and he quickly grabbed at the walkie on his belt. “This is Deon. Go,” he said, breathing hard.
“Bill needs you to set up for a shot, over,” she said.
“I’m heading back to base, over and out.”
Whitney clutched her chest and took a deep breath. Okay, so they’d have to wait a little while longer. “We should head back inside,” she said, giving him her best hotel manager smile.
“We should,” he said, clipping the walk to his hip. “But first….”
It took her brain a few seconds to catch up with his movements as he closed the space between them, gathered her in his arms, and covered her mouth with his own. The passionate assault of his kiss shocked her into the present, into that very moment. Nothing else mattered or could be remembered the second Deon’s lips touched hers.
She immediately relaxed in his arms and opened her mouth to receive his ardent exploration. When their tongues met and mingled, the rest of the world fell away, leaving her hot and panting for something deeper. Whitney held his face, stroking the rough stubble on his cheek, pulling him deeper until they shared a desperate breath between them.
His hands slipped beneath her coat, blindly groping for her ass. She wanted both of their coats off and in a pile on the floor, but managed to press herself against him nonetheless. Whitney swallowed his groan and whimpered against his lips. The urge to rock her hips and grind against his dick thundered in the back of her mind, threatening to make their kiss more than a quick, playful experiment on a tour bus.
As if reading her mind, Deon did the rocking. He pulled her closer, backing her against a wall, grinding an already stiff erection against her softness. She moaned again, as their kiss drove her delirious. He finally pulled away from her lips, running his tongue along her jaw, down her neck, sucking at her riotous pulse. She took a deep breath and held his head close.
“Oh god, Deon,” she panted.
“I’m a goddamn fool,” he whispered, nipping on her earlobe, sending a shiver of pleasure down to her pussy. “I should have called you. I should have chased you.” Once he said the words, he let out a tired sigh and rested his forehead on her shoulder.
Whitney held him as she caught her breath. “I still recite ‘Kubla Khan’ when I get scared,” she confessed in a hurried voice. “It reminds me of you, and I say as much as I can remember before I fall asleep at night.”
He wrapped her in a tight hug. “Oh, Whit,” he murmured against hair. “My sweet Whitney. What makes you afraid?”
More than she could admit out loud, on a tour bus, and she instantly regretted disclosing that bit about herself. She pulled away and ran a trembling hand through her mussed curls. “I didn’t mean to say that,” she said, shaking her head.
As she turned to escape the now stifling heat of the bus, Deon caught her by the wrist. “Don’t go,” he said. His brown eyes were hazy with desire, imploring her to stay.
But if she stayed, she’d have to talk to him. Kissing was so much easier, and more enjoyable. She gave him a tremulous smile as she stepped back. “Later. We’ll get back to this later.”
Deon pursed his lips and nodded. “Okay.”
“I promised,” she lied.
Whitney didn’t feel relief until she made it off the bus and cold dry air hit her hot face. She cursed herself for being so weak as she stomped back to the house. It was all she could do to keep from crying as she left him behind.
Chapter Seven
“Rosa. You’re sure this wasn’t one of your tricks?” Mike asked as the five of them huddled together on the second-floor hallway.
Bill looked over his shoulder, keeping an eye out for the sisters who hung out downstairs. Deon heard the distant clatter of pots and pans, hoping they wouldn’t be heard. For once, Pam look concerned about their assignment. Her lips were pressed into a hard thin line as she reviewed the footage on Rosa’s Go-Pro.
“You guys, it wasn’t a trick,” Rosa whisper-hissed. She shoved her tortoise-shell glasses up the bridge of her nose and rolled her dark brown eyes. “Yeah, I’ve fucked around in other houses, but this was different.”
“Let’s just say that it wasn’t Rosa,” Deon began.
“It wasn’t!” she insisted.
“Okay, okay, let’s just say you weren’t pulling a string, you didn’t adjust the picture, or whatever Pam makes you do. What knocked the frame off the wall?”
Mike shrugged. “Maybe it was a ghost?”
“Oh, Jesus Christ, Mike,” Pam snapped. “Grow up.”
“Now hold on, Pam,” Bill jumped in. “What if we’re picking up on something big here?”
“All we’ve got is good editing work for Deon,” she muttered as she replayed the video. “What was this about a dark shadow?”
Rosa sighed. “I was positioning the camera and I felt—”
“You felt?” Bill asked.
“I saw something out the corner of my eye,” she corrected. “It felt like a—I don’t know—a flash of black.”
The group went quiet again.
Personally, the matter of Picture-Frame-Gate was on the bottom of Deon’s list of priorities. He was still on the bus kissing the hell out of Whitney while her hips rocked against his body. He could still hear her soft moans and hard breathing.
On one hand, he was relieved to have admitted his feelings towards her. On the other hand, he wanted to tell her more. As soon as he watched Rosa’s footage, he felt the urge to tell her about the show, about the wizard behind the curtain. But then she reminded him of Coleridge. Where had that come from? Had she really kept him in her heart all these years?
The way she shut down when he pressed her about her fears. The panic in her eyes, the tension in her arm as she pulled away. She hurried off the bus before he could stop her. And now she was safe in her kitchen with Helen pretending to be the perfect little hostess while he pretended to be a ghost-punter. Interrogating a confused Rosa was not how he wanted to spend his Friday evening. After feeling Whitney’s hot velvety tongue, he needed more. He needed to feel her writhing beneath him in a soft B&B bed.
“Is she on board?” Bill asked, shaking him from his reverie.
“Huh?” Deon muttered.
Bill’s blue eyes bugged out as he asked again. “Whitney? Is she on board for a séance tonight?”
Deon shook his head. “Absolutely not,” he said. “We’re not gonna do that. Tomorrow, maybe.”
Pam sucked in a breath as she crossed her arms. “I think you’re too close to the situation.”
